


Alone

by Allie_el



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Good Ron, Hermione's sick, Hospitals, Not enough Ron feels on this wesite, Ron playing Fur Elise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 04:39:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11097075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allie_el/pseuds/Allie_el
Summary: Ron played all night, remembering, crying, loving. He played her favorite songs, all from memory. He played about her, to her, for her. He took no notice when the front door opened, just continued playing, the tears streaming down his face.





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Just an old one-shot I dragged up from the depths of my basement...there really isn't enough fics about darling Ronnie on here. I have no regrets.

Ron’s face was void of emotion. His brain was a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings, but his face was impassive. He gripped the steering wheel of his truck so hard that his knuckles turned white. Typically, he would rather Floo that drive anywhere But after he had married Hermione, she demanded that he get a license and vehicle.

  
“Ron, sometimes it’s nice to just drive somewhere,” she had argued. “And what if we make some muggle friends and want to go visit them?” Of course, she already had him wrapped around her little finger, and he had to give in. Ron smiled, thinking of all the adventures they had in this truck. Hermione was adamant that he learn to live as a muggle, like her. Oh, how he loved her. His eyes finally became moist as he thought about his beautiful wife. Her beautiful smile, her laugh, and the way she had to read a book five times before she got a new one, all her quirks and habits.

  
How he wished she was here with him. But, of course, she wasn’t. She was lying in a bed at St. Mungo’s, her pale, weak, fragile form desperately hanging onto a thin thread of life. The tears spilled as he remembered the healer’s words.

  
“I'm sorry Mr. Weasley, but she may not be able to hang on much longer. We are able to detect much brain activity, but it has been getting slower and weaker for weeks now. I don’t believe that she will be able to wake up.” Ron looked at the ground the entire time, determined not to show any emotion, but still his voice cracked.

  
“H-how…how long,” was all he was able to manage around the giant rock in his throat. He heard her sigh and walk away towards the door. She paused with her hand on the handle.

  
“A week, at most. I’m sorry, Mr. Weasley.” As soon as she had left, Ron had collapsed in a chair with a strangled sob. He’d stumbled over to Hermione’s bed and sat in the chair, grabbing her hand and bringing it to his face. “Hermione, com’on, you gotta wake up. Please wake up for me. I know you can do it; I don’t care what the healers say. Do it for me, please Hermione. I love you, I love you so much. Please, please wake up.”

  
That was how Harry and Ginny found him the next morning, sobbing nonsense into her hand. They convinced him go home for some rest.   
Ron left the truck and pulled his keys out of his pocket. He hated coming home, the house smelled like her. It wasn’t a very big house; there was a kitchen, living room, and a bathroom downstairs, and bedrooms upstairs. His favorite memories took place in their living room, and naturally that was where he ended up. The old upright piano had a heavy layer of dust on the top, but the keys remained ivory white from his fingers running over them. He sat on the bench and put his head in his hands. Can he do it, will he be able to play without her here to listen and make fun of him? He clenched his fingers before resting them lightly on the keys.

  
As the first inklings of _Fur Elise_ sounded throughout the house, his mind wandered back to when they were young and care free Hogwarts students. Well, as care free as they were. The Sorcerer’s stone, the Chamber of Secrets, the Half-Blood Prince, the Order of the Phoenix, the dementors, the year on the run…

  
Ron played all night, remembering, crying, loving. The first rays of the sunrise shone through the window, but still he played on. He played her favorite songs, all from memory. He played about her, to her, for her. He took no notice when the front door opened, just continued playing, the tears streaming down his face. He didn’t realize that someone was in the room until he felt his best friend’s firm, battle-scarred hand on his shoulder. Only then did he stop playing.

  
“Ron,” was all Harry said. It was all he had to say. That one word, that one insignificant name, carried so much meaning. Ron put his head down in silence. Harry left, leaving Ron to mourn alone. Alone, that was what he was. An empty shell, looking, touching, breathing, but not seeing, feeling, or living. How could he, when she had gone, and left him. Alone.


End file.
